


Playing with Fire

by Mount_Seleya



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Captivity, Crack, Dungeon Sex, F/M, Gift Fic, Hate Sex, Light Bondage, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot, Showverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 03:43:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mount_Seleya/pseuds/Mount_Seleya
Summary: Jaime is taken hostage after the battle. Daenerys visits him in the Dragonstone dungeons. Things get heated in a different way.





	Playing with Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoseAlenko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseAlenko/gifts).



> This morsel of crack was dashed out as a belated nameday gift for [Mhysaofdragons](http://mhysaofdragons.tumblr.com/)/[RoseAlenko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseAlenko/pseuds/RoseAlenko). I've been wanting to write some unapologetic Jaime/Dany dungeon sex for a while and her b-day (as well as that _Reigns_ scene) gave me the necessary nudge.
> 
> Shoutouts to [Emaiyl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emaiyl/pseuds/Emaiyl) and [Unburntdaenerys](http://unburntdaenerys.tumblr.com/) as well for being lovely members of the Fellowship of Jaimerys (LOL).

_Plink_. _Plink_. _Plink_. The steady drip of water on metal sawed into Jaime's ears. His eyes peeled open on a long sigh. He looked at where the tray sat on the damp stone floor. A brown rat was gnawing at the sodden heel of bread. Laughter burst out of him, dry and rough as the shifting of sand, and he let his head fall against the wall.  
  
Sleep seldom found him in this dank little cell. Weeks had passed in a blur of boredom. Sometimes, his mind uncoupled from his body, and then he was warm and safe in his own bed, fucking sweet noises out of Cersei. Other times, the stern-voiced Unsullied jarred him from a half-sleep, and he was treated to an hour of empty threats.  
  
Tyrion had paid him a visit once. Begged him to surrender Cersei's plans. The truth was that he didn't know. He didn't know what ideas moved through her head any more than he knew which way the wind would blow on the morrow.  
  
The shriek of hinges ripped Jaime from his thoughts. Boots swept down the stairs in a series of clicks. A moment later the slight, silver-haired figure of Daenerys Targaryen appeared, hands folded in front of her black coat.  
  
" _Your Grace_ ," Jaime greeted, his voice no less acid for its hoarseness.  
  
"You've been refusing food," Daenerys stated flatly.  
  
Jaime chuckled. Tipped his head to one side. "Not dying quickly enough for you?"  
  
Daenerys's lips pulled taut at the words. Torchlight played across the pale moon of her face. The last time Jaime had seen her had been down the length of a lance, when she'd spun, eyes terror-wide, at the thunder of advancing hooves. His armour had been caked with blood; his mouth filled with the ashes of his men. All he'd wanted in that instant was to end her and her pointless war. Now he didn't know what he wanted.  
  
Silence settled. Water pinged against the tray. The rat scurried into a narrow gap between two stones. Jaime held Daenerys's eyes, the rough, hempen rope binding his arms behind his back worrying his skin as he shifted his legs. He remembered the cool press of Catelyn Stark's gaze. How easily it had loosed secrets from his tongue.  
  
"Why did you charge at me?" Daenerys asked after a weighted span.  
  
"I wanted you dead," answered Jaime. "My life for yours. Seemed a fair trade."  
  
"Your life is the only reason your sister agreed to a truce."  
  
"You're a fool if you think it's going to last. Cersei isn't one for negotiating with enemies."  
  
"A family trait, it seems," Daenerys countered, a mordancy edging the regal calm of her voice.  
  
Jaime's pulse quickened traitorously. He thought of the way he'd tried to unsettle Lady Stark with teasing words. "Why have you come?" he baited. "Has the bastard boy's honour left you wanting? You deserve better, my queen." His lips carved into a wicked smile. "You deserve a _man_. Let me serve you. I think I'm up to the task."  
  
Full lips quirked into an impossible smile. He'd expected her to shout for the guards. Instead, she stalked toward him, boot-heels rapping sharply in the close chamber, then straddled his lap in a whisper of silk and wool.  
  
Fingers caught in Jaime's hair. Yanked his head back with a firm jerk. The wind fled his lungs in a skittering gasp. Blood thrummed in his ears. White heat blazed down his spine. Made his loins stir inside his ragged breeches.  
  
"I love when women get _fierce_ ," Jaime drawled, his voice low and ragged.  
  
"Never toy with a dragon," Daenerys returned in a droll purr.  
  
The silver head dipped to claim his lips in a searing kiss. It was hard and hungry, all anger and hot, lashing tongues. Small hands pushed apart the halves of his filthy shirt and smoothed across the wings of fur between his nipples. Jaime groaned, raw and rumbling, his hips bucking up off the floor, grinding his aching cock into her groin.  
  
"Unbind me," Jaime urged when Daenerys finally drew back.  
  
"Do you take me for a fool?" Daenerys replied, bemusement softening her tone.  
  
"I think you're a woman with a taste for danger." Jaime gave his hips a lazy little roll. "You favour men you shouldn't, don't you?" Nosing into the crook of neck and shoulder, he flicked his tongue behind the soft, pliant shell of an ear.  
  
The warm rush of a gasp kissed across Jaime's cheek. Then hands were tearing at the lacings of his breeches. Daenerys hitched up her skirts, knees settling on either side of Jaime's thighs, palms bracing upon his shoulders. Her hips came down, slow and easy, and then they were joined, his cock lost in the sweet fire of her cunt.  
  
"Let me touch you," Jaime said as Daenerys began to ride him.  
  
"You haven't earned my trust," Daenerys told him.  
  
"We're _fucking_ ," Jaime growled, a raw drag of sand and sin. "What would you call that, I wonder?"  
  
"Negotiating with an enemy."  
  
Jaime laughed and sucked a bruise into the skin below Daenerys's ear. He snapped his hips up rhythmically, answering the slow, steady tempo she had set. His left hand tensed behind his back, fingers clutching madly at his stump, yearning to conquer her body.  
  
At last small hands stole between his body and the wall. Worked his bonds free with a series of fumbling tugs. His right arm lifted, looping around her shoulders and pulling her closer, and his hand snuck beneath her bunched skirts. A soft little cry spilled from her lips as his finger delved between the slick folds of her sex to harry her pearl.  
  
Soon enough release washed over her like a great wave. His finger continued to turn circles she gasped and shook. He slowed his thrusts to a crawl, letting the delightful quaking of her cunt abate, then pressed her down onto the floor. Cradling the back of her head with his hand, he began rutting into her with deep, unhurried strokes.  
  
"Ah, _fuck_ ," Jaime grit out when at last he was nearing his own completion. He pulled out and rose onto his haunches, taking his cock in hand and stroking himself until he spent with a low, shuddering groan.  
  
Daenerys drew herself onto her feet after a moment. Her hands smoothed down her skirts with a rustle. She looked down at Jaime, queenly reserve once again hardening her features, and something broke open inside of his chest. He wanted the fire. Wanted the heat and the burn. Anything was better than cold and still and silence.  
  
"I'll bend the knee," Jaime pronounced, chin tipped up to hold Daenerys's gaze.  
  
"You would betray your sister?" The words were cool. Hard. Assessing.  
  
"Yes," Jaime said, his voice as keen as steel, "and _no_." He paused a beat. "You can take the capital without blood." The dry catch threatened to return to his throat. "You need a plan. You need _me_. I'm the only one she'll trust."  
  
"I'll discuss this matter with your brother," Daenerys replied.  
  
Then she turned, striding up the stairs with the clack of boots, and Jaime was left with the ghost of her warmth.


End file.
